Spoilers: Nope
Rating: PG
Author’s Note: It has been another long absence for me, but I stumbled on this next part of the series I wrote last year that I had forgotten about, and I again feel inspired. I certainly needed some catching up and you might, too, so I suggest you skim through the previous parts. If you don’t want to do that, we currently find our little Creek gang in their late twenties. Joey is still mourning Dawson’s death after the summer of sophomore year in high school. She, Jen and Pacey all found themselves with careers in theater out of respect to Dawson’s dashed dreams. Abby, too, works with them and is the star, but some Opera Ghost legends have thrust Joey into the spotlight when Abby runs out of the theater. Joey’s voice has been coached by her “Angel of Music,” a mysterious shade who taught her to sing through the vents of her dressing room. She finally meets her Angel face to face, and stands Pacey up for dinner as she is seduced into his world of darkness. She begins to suspect the truth, that her Angel, the Opera Ghost with half his face terribly distorted, is Dawson, but she cannot explain how he could be alive. They share an evening of passion of sorts before she tries to confront him and he shies away from her, returning her to Carmington Theater.
The Phantom From the Creek
Act One Scene Five
As the Phantom held his hand out to her and Joey stepped off the boat into the daylight, her free hand flew up to block the bright sun. She squinted her eyes and blinked in response to the sudden change from the black darkness. Dawson tugged on her wrist and hurried her through the windowed corridor. They ran out of the light back into the shadows. Dawson pulled her behind the curtain when they found Buquet Lefevre onstage with some of the dancers. Joey crouched and panted, shocked by her behavior. A handjob? No matter how seductive blurry thoughts of angels, darkness, Dawson… peace of mind… could be, that was totally out of character. Joey had had few lovers and even fewer real relationships. Giving handjobs to random… men? was inexcusable. She had never seen this side of herself before, and she was not sure if she liked it. Her attention turned to Bouquet and she wondered why he was again not at his post.
“The opera ghost! Beware!” Buquet crept around the dancers. He swung around the rope Andre had asked him about. “Like yellow parchment is his skin… a great black hole served as the nose that never grew…”
Dawson twitched in a mixture of sadness and anger at the legends about him. He clenched his teeth and waited impatiently for a moment to escape. Buquet pulled the rope into a noose.
“Beware of his magical lasso!” Dawson glared in Buquet’s direction and decided he did not want to take any more abuse. He dragged Joey to her dressing room. Only Mrs. Giry observed their quiet emergence and quick exit.
“Those who speak of what they know not find, too late, that prudent silence is wise.” Buquet began to protest Mrs. Giry’s cold words. “Buquet Lefevre,” she interrupted, “hold your tongue or he will burn you with the heat of his eyes!” She turned and marched towards Joey’s dressing room.
“‘Mystery after gala night,’ it says, ‘mystery of soprano’s flight!’” Firmin yelled.
“‘Mystified, baffled, shocked,’ they say, ‘we are mystified—we suspect foul play.” Andre put down the play’s reviews. “Foul play?”
“Bad news on soprano scene—first Abigail and now Josephine. Still,” Firmin smiled, “at least the seats get sold… gossip is worth its weight in gold!”
“But Firmin, half our cast has disappeared.”
“It’s publicity! And the take is vast… free publicity!”
“BUT WE HAVE NO CAST.”
“Hmm…” Firmin said. “This is true. Oh look, the mail has come. We have letters! No doubt from adoring fans.”
“Dear Andre, what a charming gala! Josephine enjoyed a great success. We were hardly bereft when Abby left—otherwise the chorus was entrancing, but the dancing was a lamentable mess!”
“Dear Firmin, just a brief reminder: my salary has not been paid. Send it care of the ghost, by return of post. No one likes a debtor so it’s better if my orders are obeyed!”
“Who would have the gall to send these?” Andre asked.
“Someone with a puerile brain,” Firmin answered.
“They’re both signed O.G…”
“Who the hell is he?”
“Opera ghost!” they both exclaimed. Firmin looked around. Andre almost thought he saw him shaking.
“This has ceased to be amusing, now, Opera Ghost! Or whoever…” Firmin yelled, “come out! Show yourself!” He turned back to Andre. “What kind of ghost wants our money?”
“The man kind. The clearly insane man kind,” Andre frowned. “Do we give into this nonsense, this madness?”
“Where is she?” Pacey ran in and demanded.
“Who, Abby?” Firmin asked.
“No, Ms. Potter. She was supposed to meet me for dinner and never showed up.”
“Maybe she was just trying to give you a hint,” Firmin chuckled. “Not used to hearing no?”
“Not a good idea to insult the patron’s manhood,” Andre whispered. Pacey seemed to agree.
“Someone is getting a little too comfortable in a position of authority,” Pacey warned. “First you send me this note, then you insult me?”
“Note?”
“You didn’t send it then?”
“Let us see.”
“Mr. Witter, do not fear for Ms. Potter. The Angel of Music has her under his wing. Make no attempt to see her again.”
“What kind of sick joke is this, gentlemen?” Pacey sneered.
“We got letters in the same handwriting ourselves,” Andre tried to explain. “The only explanation is—”
“WHERE IS HE?”
“Abigail! You have come back!” Firmin exclaimed.
“Your precious patron, where is he? Ah, Mr. Witter, PACEY,” Abby roared.
“Pleasure to see you again, Abby. You still know how to make an impressive entrance,” Pacey smirked. Abby threw an envelope at him.
“I got your letter… a letter which I rather resent!” Pacey stooped to pick it up.
“‘Dearest Abby, your days at Carmington Theater are numbered. Josephine Potter will be singing on your behalf tonight. Be prepared for a grand misfortune, should you attempt to take her place. O.G.’ Well, as much as I would love to take credit for this pleasant state of annoyed frenzy you have worked up, I can’t. This is in the same handwriting as the others, though.”
Abby, remembering that Pacey was no longer loser high school boy but producer millionaire, thought better of arguing and straightened up. “I’m sorry I accused you, Mr. Witter,” she purred. “Can you ever forgive me?” Pacey rolled his eyes.
“Far too many letters for my taste,” Andre frowned.
“And most of them about Ms. Potter! All we’ve heard since we came is her name,” Firmin sniffed haughtily.
“Ms. Potter,” Mrs. Giry droned, “has safely returned.”
“Where is she?” Andre asked, looking relieved.
“Home,” Jen said shyly. “She needed rest.”
“May I see her?” Pacey asked.
“No, she will see no one,” Mrs. Giry said sternly.
“Will she sing? Will she sing?” Abby whined. Jen silently motioned to Pacey, and they stepped away from Abby’s ensuing tantrum.
“I’m worried, Pace. Really worried,” Jen confided in him. They had kept in touch a little better than he and Joey had because of Jen’s persistent emails.
“Me too,” Pacey agreed.
“Yeah, I could tell by the three hour 2AM ‘dear lord, where is she’ phone call,” Jen said, “but seriously. She was saying really uncharacteristically strange things last night. Here,” she pulled a piece of paper and pen out of her bag. “Her address. Go see her.”
“Thank you,” Pacey said sincerely before running off to his car.
“Jo, why did you stand me up last night?” Pacey asked, giving her some tea.
“I don’t know,” Joey said, sitting up in bed and blowing on the hot liquid. “I just… got kind of lost last night.” Pacey decided to change the subject.
”So… what have you been doing for the last ten years?” he grinned.
Hours later, Pacey was trying to stand on his head and touch his nose with his tongue.
“Enough, okay,” Joey laughed, pulling on his left leg. “Down boy, heel!” Pacey obeyed. “Good boy.” He made a face and mocked her before they both fell back on the bed, laughing. “I haven’t had this much fun in as long as I can remember,” she smiled warmly. “I forgot—I forgot that, even though you’re always difficult, you could always make me laugh.”
“One of the many, many Witter charms,” he agreed.
“Just because you can’t count higher than three does not mean you have many, many, Pacey.”
“You just admitted I have two more! Spill, Potter.”
“I walked right into that one,” Joey rolled her eyes. “Fine. Um… you’ve become sweet and responsible in your old age.”
“Old? Why then what does that make you?”
“And…” Joey continued, ignoring him. She looked down sheepishly. “You’ve aged well, too.”
“I’ve aged… why Joey Potter, are you trying to tell me that I’m beautiful?”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” she smirked.
“How about if I flatter you? You’re breathtaking, Joey.”
“Pacey, stop it.”
“I mean it, Joey. I’ve been waiting the last ten years to find someone who’s company I enjoy half as much as yours.”
“Pacey…” Joey looked over at him timidly. He moved so close that she could feel his breath on her face.”
“Joey, can I—”
She put her hand to his face. Their lips almost touched when she suddenly drew back. “Pacey, I stood you up last night because I was with Dawson.” Pacey withdrew slightly in shock, but then his expression changed to concern. “Well, sort of.”
“Joey,” he said very seriously, moving closer to her again, “Dawson is dead.”
“No, it was him, Pacey. Somehow—I can’t explain it, but the Phantom? It’s him. I looked into his eyes. I touched him. It was him.”
“Jen and I are worried about you, Jo. Please…”
“No, Pacey, I’m not crazy. Think about it, will you? There was a memorial service, but no body. No local funeral. The truck in front of him blew up, but they must have never found him. I begged his parents to let me see the body, but they just said it was unrecognizable and then they suddenly had the funeral in Missouri without telling anyone before moving in with family there.”
“Joey, he is dead. The police said so, the news said so, his parents said so. If he wasn’t, he wouldn’t have let us mourn him for so long and never have tried to get in touch with us, okay? It was not some weird conspiracy.”
“But, it was him, Pacey, it was. We were too young and upset to notice, but everything that happened all that time ago was really suspicious. He has to still be alive,” Joey’s eyes welled up with tears. “There was so much familiar, so many otherwise unexplainable feelings. It had to be him. Or a ghost or an… angel.”
“Shh, it’s okay, Jo,” Pacey took her into his arms.
“I need to believe, Pacey. You need to believe me.”
“It doesn’t matter. Crazy or not, I won’t leave you, Joey. I left once. I’m not leaving again.” Joey slowly stopped crying and looked up at him.
“Thank you,” she said simply. She looked away. “I don’t want to be crazy.” He turned her face back to his.
“The sunlight makes your hair look reddish,” he murmured, stroking it. She smiled her half-smile.
“I missed you,” she said softly. “I never realized how much.” He moved his face to hers again and secured the kiss that had eluded him for so many years, even though he had never realized he was falling before.
Feedback! Feedback! I need constant reminders and encouragement so I can get the next part posted! :)